THE RESCUE
Allen, rushing up with his company, gave one quick glance at the
group of women and girls before the burning house, then strode grimly
over to Amy's side.
"Where's Betty?" he demanded roughly, his voice sounding strange,
even to himself.
"Allen, Allen, they've gone to rescue her," cried Amy, shaking like a
leaf. "She's still in the house---"
With a hoarse cry Allen turned, and ran like a madman toward the
burning building. A fireman, stumbling gaspingly from the house,
almost knocked him down.
"Isn't any use!" he cried. "That stair's on fire, too. We've got to
reach 'em from the outside."
"Get out of the way!" cried Allen, shoving him roughly to one side.
The fireman called after him, but there was no stopping the terror
that forced him on. Terror for Betty--up there alone--Betty--Betty.
He clapped a hand before his eyes and stumbled blindly on.
Flames lapped at him hungrily as he forced his mad way through them,
smoke choked him, blinded him, and yet he must go on. Betty--Betty...
A section of the stairs gave way before him and he had to jump to
keep from going with it.
Was this the head of the stairs? He felt for it with his hand and
pulled it back with an involuntary cry of pain. He was horribly
burned, his hands, his face, his hair--his clothing had started. He
beat at them as he ran. He must live until he had rescued Betty--and
then----
A door. Fumblingly he opened it--then forced it shut from the other
side. Blindly he felt for the bed. Yes, she was here. Thank God he
had found her! But there was another figure--someone else to save.
Then he felt a sharp pain. He looked down and found that the flames
were rapidly creeping up--creeping up... There was a rug on the
floor--with feverish haste he wrapped himself in it--smothering the
flames. He must live until----
He staggered to his feet, lifted one of the unconscious figures in
his arms and staggered with it to the door. A hades of flame leaped
at him. It was too late. They were trapped!
He groaned aloud and great tears rolled down his face. Betty--Betty!
Carefully he laid his burden down and staggered to the open window.
The firemen were raising a ladder to another window. He beckoned to
them, he shouted to them in a hoarse voice that seemed to him to make
no noise at all.
But they saw him and shifted the ladder to his window. Was there a
chance, after all? The flames were eating away the door, were leaping
into the room. Down below the firemen had stretched a net.
Sobbing now, his breath coming in great gasps, Allen rushed back to
the bed, picked up one of the figures, and staggered with it back to
the window. They saw him standing there; and a great cheer went up
from the spectators.
Gathering all that wonderful reserve strength that comes to every one
in time of greatest need, he swung his burden far out from the
window--then dropped it.
Allen paused for a moment, steadying hand on the windowsill, then
gathered himself for the last great effort. The bed was invisible
now, the room an inferno--he had to fight every step of the way back
to the bed. Then he found what he sought, and fought the slow fight
back to the window.
But his strength was going--going--his arms were iron weights--the
room was going black. With a great effort he fought off the
faintness. Then he saw a great, helmeted head peering in at him from
the window.
"Give her to me, son," said a hearty voice; then, it seemed to Allen
miraculously, he was relieved of his burden. Swaying, dizzy, he clung
to the windowsill to keep himself erect.
"Now I guess I can die," he heard himself saying, through an eternity
of space.
"You just hold tight, son," said the hearty voice, as its owner
carefully lowered himself and the poor little unconscious figure down
the ladder. "I'll be back for you in jig time."
But it was an eternity while Allen waited, every nerve tense in the
fight for consciousness, red hot irons searing his flesh, that
roaring hades of flames creeping closer, closer----
"Your turn, son!"
Dimly he saw the helmeted head through a haze of smoke and tried to
speak--but no sound came from between his cracked, parched lips. He
swayed. A brawny arm gripped him like a vise.
"Can you climb out," asked the voice, "or will I have to carry you?"
[Illustration: "ALLEN!" SHE CRIED, DRAWING A CHAIR TO THE BED-SIDE.]
Allen's head jerked up proudly, and he forced still a little more
from that splendid reserve of strength. Afterward he could never
remember how he clambered over that windowsill, and got his feet upon
the ladder.
That he did it and managed the descent with the aid of the firemen,
he afterward learned from his friends. All he could remember, was the
great shout which came to him like a little murmur that went up from
the crowd at sight of him.
He was a hero, a great hero, but at the time the fact interested him
not at all. He wanted to sleep--to sleep--if they would only let him
sleep!
Four days later, he awoke and looked around him lazily. A delightful
drowsiness surrounded him; he was too comfortable even to inquire
where he was.
Then a sweet voice reached his ears and he turned his head sharply.
"No, thank you," it said. "I think I'll take these to him myself, if
you don't mind. This door? Thank you."
Fascinated, Allen watched the door as it slowly opened,
admitting--Betty! Betty, sweeter and more beautiful than he had ever
seen her. Her eyes widened at sight of him, and she ran forward
impulsively.
"Allen!" she cried, drawing a chair to the bedside and taking his
outstretched hand. "Oh, I'm so glad! I was afraid you were just going
to sleep on forever. How do you feel?"
"Not at all," he responded whimsically, his eyes devouring her face.
"I haven't been awake long enough to feel anything--except your hand
in mine," he added softly.
She thoughtfully regarded the hand he still held, yet did not try to
draw it away. Instead she smiled a little--a smile that set Allen's
heart to throbbing painfully, and said, so softly he could hardly
hear her:
"Aren't you just a little bit curious to know what I think of you--and
everybody else, for that matter--after what you did the other day?"
"Yes, what do you think of me?" he asked breathlessly. "I've wanted
ever since I can remember, to know that."
"I think," said Betty, flushing, yet meeting his eager eyes steadily,
"you're the dearest and most wonderful person I ever knew."
"Betty," he cried hoarsely and would have leaped from the bed had she
not forcibly restrained him. "Oh, Betty, Betty," he murmured over and
over again. "Did you mean that--did you?"
"I--I'm not the only one," said Betty, startled at what she had done.
"Everybody is talking about you and praising you to the skies, and
there was even a piece about you in the paper. I--I'm afraid when you
are able to get out and hear how everybody is raving about you,
you'll be spoiled entirely."
"Betty," he commanded, in so very different a tone from any he had
ever used before that she started and looked at him shyly, "what are
you running on about such nonsense for? If I did anything, it was for
you and because I loved you, Betty. There wasn't any heroism. I don't
deserve any fuss about it and I don't want any thanks. I don't
deserve any. You weren't hurt, Betty?"
"No," she answered softly, not daring to look at him. This was such a
different Allen and so wonderfully attractive. "Mollie and I were
both a little sick from the smoke and shock, but it didn't take us
long to recover. You were the one who was so terribly burned that for
one horrible long day, the doctors didn't know whether you'd pull
through or not. Oh, Allen, that awful day!"
"Were you worried?" queried Allen gently.
"I--I never want to live through another one like it," she said with
a little shiver, then suddenly rose to go. "The doctor said you
mustn't be excited," she explained as he looked up at her reproachfully.
"And I," she looked away again, "I just wanted to--thank you,
Allen--but if you won't let me----"
"Betty," he broke in, an eager light of daring in his eyes, "I know
it's sort of taking advantage--but--there's just one way you can--thank
me. Won't you--please----"
Slowly his meaning dawned upon Betty, and the color flamed into her
face. Then, light as thistledown, her lips brushed his cheek and she
was gone, closing the door softly behind her.
With wildly beating heart Allen pressed a hand to his cheek and gazed
longingly after her.
"Betty," he whispered. "Oh, my Betty!"